


Dirty Laundry

by thebrightestbird



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Competitive Flirting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightestbird/pseuds/thebrightestbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon decides to take Steve up on his offer to use his washing machine. But she insists on returning the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a cute fanart of Steve and Sharon by moukin-tarou at http://moukin-tarou.tumblr.com/post/85996966991. For the fic to make sense within Cap 2’s events, let’s just assume Fury doesn’t get to Steve’s apartment until much, much later.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She  _really_  shouldn’t be doing this. But despite the mental tongue-lashing she’s giving herself, Sharon is indeed standing in front of Captain Rogers’ front door, about to knock.

He just looked so  _lost_. Like a giant, muscular, pouty-lipped golden retriever. Sharon’s gotten to know Steve a bit during her stint as the friendly neighborhood nurse (she’s been playing nurse with the captain, haha …) and she genuinely likes him.

Which is why this whole assignment (deception) is starting to get to her. When Fury told her to protect Steve, she thought he was joking. Really, why would Captain America need her as protection? Sharon’s no slouch, but Steve could do shoulder lifts with a Humvee while running.

But Fury said to watch his back, so here she is, pretending to know things about infectious diseases and learning to love wearing scrubs. Getting super friendly with Steve isn’t part of the assignment, but he looks like he could use some genuine kindness. She might not be able to be genuinely Sharon, but she can be genuinely kind. So she knocks.

“Kate?”

“Hey, Steve. Turns out, I’m out of quarters. So can I still take you up on that offer to use your machine?”

“Sure, yeah, of course. Come in.” Steve swings open the door. His apartment looks normal. A little too normal. It has a comfortable, lived-in feel, but it lacks real character. Sharon suspects he’s holding back on settling himself in D.C. She knows he’s from Brooklyn, and she wonders if maybe he’d be happier living there despite it not being much like the Brooklyn of his past. A man like Steve would hold on to the place he called home.

Steve takes his laundry basket off the machine for Sharon. “Can I make you that coffee we talked about?”

“I thought I was the one responsible for the coffee. Since I’m using your machine and all.”

He shrugs. “No worries. It just means you owe me dinner now.” A little smirk plays on his lips. And that’s better. His face should always have some form of a smile on it.

Sharon’s trying to be as professional as possible, but she allows a little mental happy dance because Steve has definitely turned up his flirting game with her tonight.

When he moves toward the kitchen, she sets the laundry basket down and does a quick sniff test of herself, smoothes her hair, adjusts her bra into prime position, licks the chapness from her lips … and oh, right, she’s supposed to be doing her laundry. She should probably start that. She’s not looking to try to sleep with him, but Captain America likes her, and that feels fucking _great_.

She gets an idea. It might backfire and make things awkward, but if it works, she thinks she has a chance at getting Steve to loosen up and lift his mood for good tonight.

“Hey, Steve. I still don’t like imposing on you like this, so why not throw in some of your clothes too? I can at least help you get some of your laundry done.”

He walks back to her after he sets the coffee pot to brew. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”

“Come on! Let me do this for you. I promise my scrubs aren’t too infectious.”

Steve gives her a small smile. “Okay, if it makes you feel better. There are a few things in my basket over there.”

“Great.” She throws those things in the machine. “How about your shirt?”

“Shirt? What shirt?”

“The one you’re wearing.”

Steve looks down at himself. “Does it seem dirty? Is there something on it?”

“No, but why wait? It’s going to need washing eventually.”

Steve’s obviously perplexed. “But I’m wearing it. Like, right now. I would need to put something else on, which, I think, just perpetuates the cycle of needing to wash more things.”

“Who said anything about putting something else on?” Sharon asks in the most innocent way possible.

The surprised look he gives her in response says that she was not successful in her innocent tone. Okay, time for impassioned rationalization.

“Look, Steve. You’re doing me a favor here. Let me do you this favor in return.”

Steve squints at her for a bit. She can practically see gears moving in that golden head of his. “So, in order for you to return this favor, you need to wash absolutely everything that could possibly need washing at this moment, which includes the shirt off my back?”

“Yeah,” she answers. The “duh” is implied. Sharon steadfastly stares at him like this whole situation isn’t the most ridiculous thing to happen in human history. She’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. There’s an entire seminar you have to take on pulling off straight faces. Natasha teaches it every spring.

Steve, on the other hand, is showing his lack of upbringing within the S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks because he’s openly holding back his laughter. But he keeps it together and even pretends to be resigned to the situation.

“Okay. I’m going to go ahead and take off my shirt. So you can sleep at night knowing you did not take advantage of my generosity with my Kenmore Heavy Duty Washing Machine and its eight different wash settings.”

Steve slowly ( _slowly_ ) starts lifting his shirt. Steve makes eye contact with Sharon. And, oh, he is smart. He’s doing this so Sharon feels responsible to maintain the eye contact and not look down at the (still too slow) reveal of his torso.

The bastard.

If he thinks he’s getting the better of her, well, he doesn’t know Sharon Carter. (Okay, technically, he really  _doesn’t_  know Sharon Carter, but that’s beside the point.) She’s seen hot, shirtless men lots of times. There was that one time she had to break up the bachelorette party of a chemical weapons maker who somehow hired a rugby team to be her party’s strippers. Good times.

Anyway, her point is that the shirt’s going to have to go over Steve’s head eventually, and she doesn’t  _need_  to take a quick peek.

She just  _chooses_  to.

Her eyes snap right back to Steve’s face as soon as the shirt’s off. He’s giving her a full-blown, knowing smile. “Here you go,” he says, handing over the shirt.

“Thank you,” she squeaks out, then swallows to clear the dryness in her throat that is certainly not a result of glimpsing what seemed to be an impossible eight-pack of abs (not that she was counting). “See? Was that so hard?”

Steve still refuses to break eye contact and, because he seems to have promoted himself to smug bastard instead just regular bastard, puts his hands on his hips so nothing could possibly block her view if she so chooses to look down again.

Oh, he’s really very good at this. Aunt Peggy never told her he fought dirty.

Sharon decides it’s time to concede. She accomplished her mission for the night. Steve’s smile is unrestrained with lots of teeth and blushing …

… that reaches his  _chest_ , she learns as she finally breaks the eye contact and lets herself look down some. “Uh, I guess the coffee’s done,” she says. “It smells great.”

Steve relaxes his posture a bit. He seems truly bashful at the moment. “I just realized how late it is. You sure you want to drink coffee?”

“Coffee hardly affects me. With my crazy hours, I can sleep whenever I’m able to get the sleep, so don’t worry.” She’s being honest, but she’s a little sad that she has to veil it in a lie about being a nurse. Damn, she really likes this man. “I’d really like to sit and have a cup with you.”

Steve’s smile is soft. “I’ll go get it.”

He turns around to go to the kitchen, and Sharon gets a great view of his shirtless back. She lets her eyes move downward because, fuck it, she’s just going to go for broke and check out everything she can.

“I’m glad you’re still going to have the coffee,” Steve says from the kitchen.

“Why’s that?” she asks distractedly (because this one man might actually surpass a roomful of stripper rugby players).

“It means you’ll still owe me dinner later.”

Sharon breaks out of her reverie, processing what Steve said. Sharon’s always been highly competitive, but Steve might put her to shame because he’s still trying to win this strange game of flirting one-upmanship.

Well, that ain’t happening.

“Hey, Steve. There’s still some room in the machine. And I was intending to wash  _everything_  of yours. You know, to really, truly return the favor.”

“I don’t know what else you could possibly wash,” he says as he turns around with a coffee cup in each hand.

Sharon purposefully leaves her gaze where it was when he was turned away, and Steve follows the gaze … down.

Steve shuts his eyes and groans. “Oh, no.”

“Oh,  _yes_. Hand over those pants, mister.” 


End file.
